Relentless
by TrulySheena
Summary: A short story about Nina's normal life post-Tekken 4, but before she fought Anna in the three day war. For all of you Nina fans out there. Full of flashbacks and other thoughts of hers, written third person. OneShot.


**Hey all! Here's my first Tekken (oneshot) fanfiction. It's going to be about my favorite character, Nina!**

I don't own Tekken, but you guys knew that already :)

**-TrulySheena**

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Nina Williams.

Emotionless, but powerful. Voluptuous, yet introverted. Intelligent.

She was a woman of blood and of beauty. A femme fatale, you might say. Her crystal-blue eyes were not clear enough to see into her tainted soul; a soul tormented with the darkness of murder and and carnage. She could not count how many heads she had popped with a sniper, how many throats she had slit, how many necks she had snapped. All she knew, since the end of the cryogenic sleep that started in '88 until '07, was that she had killed people for money. Men, women, children; she would kill any for just the right price.

Except for one person, she was absolutely positive, that she would not kill; a young boxer of Australian descent, who Nina knew better than she thought she did. After receiving an order to kill the young, blonde man of twenty the year before, she researched all she could about him, finally finding the perfect place to bring upon his death. She remembered the feeling of pulling the trigger upon a victim, the only feeling she had ever felt until that day. She felt _complete._

But she didn't pull it.

She knew that he was her son. Given to her through invitro-fertilization during her long nineteen years of comatose sleep, she could not help but feel _something_ towards him. That man was her son. Even though she did could not fathom who wanted to give her a child or why they did it, it happened, and she did not let it bother her. The only thing she would feel now is an appreciation of seeing him, and seeing him alive. If another assassin had their chance at him, then she was fine with it. But Steve would not die by his mother's hands.

Taking a swig of her aspirin-filled water bottle, Nina gazed around her room. Satin blankets enveloped her body, which was dressed in a purple silk nightgown. She had only just woken up, the clock having read six-oh-seven. The window was opened slightly, bringing a cutting chill into the darkness of her room. She lived alone. Oh yes, only and always alone.

Her blonde hair was pinned up to give her ease of rest. After not being able to succumb to her sleep after seven long minutes, which she knew was the average time for a person to fall asleep, Nina got up. Her sultriness was tangible as she stretched her seductive figure, her body seemingly warm and inviting. But Nina did not yearn for sexual activity like most did. No, Nina did not care for such diminutive cravings.

Walking over to her mirror, she pulled her hair out of its knot to put it up into her usual ponytail. It was simple, and didn't get into her way while fighting, unlike . . .

Like Anna's.

Her nails dug into her dresser, leaving a small group of eight little indents in the mahogany wood. Anna absolutely angrified her. Even though she was the only link to any memory that took place before the events that had happened two years before, she could not help but hate her. She had been her rival since they were children taking martial arts, and things had remained that way throughout their adolescence and into their adulthood. Nina and Anna had spent their past years trying to kill, and when not, humiliating, the other.

When Nina had first woken up from her cold sleep, Anna had tried explaining to her about everything that had happened, but she would not listen. Even as Anna told her that Nina had stolen a pair of shoes from her once, that she had held her at gunpoint while they visited their father's grave, that she had pulled her top off at the beach once a long time ago, Nina would not, and could not, listen to her. Anna reached out to shake her hand, which Nina took gingerly - and then proceeded in breaking Anna's arm. From that day, she never spoke to her again.

She knew that Anna, her brunette model of a sister, was her only connection to what was once her reality. Steve, on the other hand, who Nina wouldn't have minded seeing, could not help her at all. Yet she still couldn't bring herself around to getting in contact with her once again. That was why she had retired as an assassin and moved to Italy, where the chances of coming across her were very low. She swore she would never see the both of them again; their talk of family and union was not needed to corrupt Nina's already-broken mind.

Walking into her private bathroom, Nina snatched her favorite towel and rag from the rack. Her muscles were still tense with the adrenaline running through her veins, unable to pull her from her ill-tempered furiosity. The air slipped heavily in and out of her lungs as she tried to calm down, but it was to no avail. The steaming hot water was her only choice in taking her away from this madness.

It streamed down her body, starting from the roots of her golden hair down to the soles of her feet. Nina ran her hands through her short locks, letting the shampoo smooth itself into her hair. She was starting to feel calmer; yes, she could function without destroying anything now. The spray of the water was truly what she needed to bring herself together - the water descending into the drain was utterly comforting. But she could not stay in this tranquility forever. She had to live in the real world, hidden by an exact countenance that no-one - not even Anna or Steve - would be able to read.

Nina stepped out of the shower and, standing on the towel, watched herself in the mirror. She wanted to bring her life to a standstill out of the accelerated high-life of a murderess. This was the way to do it. To be on her own, to live her own life! Regardless of not knowing anything, she did not need a past to create a future. She wasn't like everybody else. She would last.

Her outfit with the red-and-black leopard vest would be her one for the day, the one with the black strapless bra and leather pants. She may not have worn it for two years, but it was the perfect garment to describe her feelings; her usual purple was too bright for her, there was no need for cami, and the pink? Forget about it. Red and black. The most darkest colors of the spectrum. The most fitting colors for a woman like her, colors that represented desire and death when together.

Hearing the sound of a phone vibrating on a glass table, Nina walked to her living room. She had left the glass entrance to her terrace open throughout the night, and the wind whipped itself through her drying hair. A newspaper sat upon her leather couch, mentioning the King of Iron Fist Tournament 5.

_Mishima Zaibatsu, once again?_ Thought Nina.

The phone began to vibrate again and again, churning like the thoughts in Nina's mind. She yearned for this life, but if she stayed in her little home in Italy, then entering the tournament once again would be a dream lost in the wind. The phone began to buzz again. She would not return to her old life. Nothing would force her back into it. Nina had _control_.

Her cell continued to vibrate. Seizing her phone with an irritated quick-read of the cover, she threw it into the couch. She had no need to talk to her therapist at the moment; the man had even said himself that alone time was the best medicine. It wasn't like he helped her, anyway. Nina was subtly disturbed, and talking to someone, taking prescribed drugs, or finding a release were not going to change that. The only time she felt able to smile was in the midst of a fight, when her heel was digging into her opponent's face and knew she was going to win.

God, she needed to forget about all of that.

She needed something to do. Something _normal_ to do. It was bright out now; the clock claimed it to be seven-fourteen. The mail would've arrived by now, at six-forty-five to be exact. There would be nothing wrong with that, looking at a bill or an old magazine subscription, she didn't care. Slipping her feet into her open-toe heels, she walked briskly out the door and straight to the elevator. All she had to do was stand still for nineteen floors, about a minute and a half, all she had was ninety-five seconds before she had to do something else normal. Maybe she would go on the computer or go out to Venice to ride a gondola. Anything to get her head out of _these_ clouds.

Nina jabbed her key into her mailbox and took the mass of envelopes before retreating back to the elevator. She was going upstairs to drop her junk mail, to get her car keys and leave for a few hours. She would pack her bathing suit and go to a beach somewhere and come back when it was dark again, have a drink with a Tylenol PM or a Percocet, and then go to sleep to forget all about her dark feelings that day.

Sticking her key into her door, she nudged it open with her toe and stepped inside, eyes still on her mail. Her peripheral vision caught a pair of stockinged legs and red shoes, travelling up to the one person she would not tolerate seeing.

Anna.

Her gun met Nina's forehead almost simultaneously as the blonde's did. The orientally dressed red-head looked her sister up and down, seeing no change whatsoever in the past two year. Nina's grip on her silenced pistol became a clench; with one pull of the trigger, nobody would know. The silencer would bring this all to an end. After the bullet pierced her skull, Nina could've thrown Anna's body off of the roof in the middle of the night and nobody would ever know it was her.

Nina's sister smirked, and both eased their fingers on the trigger at the same time.

_The bitch was relentless._

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**And . . . That's it! I hope you all enjoyed this oneshot :) I'm going to start working on a EddyxChristiexSteve fanfiction during the week, so hopefully you'll follow up with reading that one too ;)**


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